A Lover's Transgression
by Shade5
Summary: Sydney muses about love and comfort. CD challenge.


Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, they are all property of the Alias geniuses.  
  
Archive: Credit Dauphine May challenge  
  
A/N: This is my first attempt at a challenge fic…enjoy!  
  
Special Thanks: To Lara, the beta master.  
  
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"Without you I am nothing, without you I can't believe this gilded place has everything, but this comfort is not what it seems, in between is everything I need." –'Opaline' by Dishwalla  
  
-A Lover's Transgression-  
  
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Everyone has some form of a security blanket.  
  
A doll, a picture, a comfort food, a puppy, a pair of lucky underwear, even a tattered postcard from Memphis.  
  
You were five when you got your first security blanket.  
  
Your mother, arm in a cast, was struggling to prepare a birthday dinner of lamb chops and risotto for your father. Her arm had broken two weeks earlier, when she fell off one of those big ladders in the library at UCLA. She was trying to reach an old copy of "Much Ado About Nothing" that was stuck on the top shelf.  
  
You stood quietly in the living room, peering in at her, sheltered by the doorframe.  
  
She could see you.  
  
Every now and then, she would fumble and drop something, then sigh and tell you to help her. You refused. You felt a slight pang of guilt every time – but helping your mother cook dinner was not an option as long as the food was for your father.  
  
Eventually you tired of this game, tiptoed upstairs and shut yourself in your room. You didn't plan on coming down all night. You wouldn't give your father the satisfaction of knowing that you cared about his birthday.  
  
For awhile, you concentrated on the noises coming from downstairs: the gust from the door swinging open when your father came home, the tiny "ping" from the good china grazing the table, the swish from the silverware as your parents cut their food, the soft buzzing of their conversation, muffled by ceilings and doors. Then, you tired of hearing what you were missing, and your thoughts drifted to the root of your grudge.  
  
The previous week, he had been out of town. That wasn't the problem – he was out of town often enough that you were used to it. No, this problem was much bigger.  
  
He missed your first ever swim meet. You won your event: backstroke. Then you cried. Not because you won, but because your father wasn't in the bleachers to see you.  
  
As the meager festivities lulled on beneath you, you sat on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest and scowling. They hadn't bothered to retrieve you – not that you would have joined them, anyway.  
  
You heard Frank Sinatra's voice creep upstairs; could picture your parents swaying back and forth to the soft rhythm and happily reminiscing about their honeymoon to Paris.  
  
Later, when the music faded and your eyelids grew heavy, your door slowly creaked open. When your father entered, you leapt up and slid under the covers rather ungracefully.  
  
You knew he had gotten closer to your hiding place when you heard him take a few steps.  
  
You knew he would find you.  
  
His soft words intrigued you, "I know that you're angry with me. But I brought you back something from London – something for your next swim meet."  
  
You remained silent, but when you heard the door click back into place you peered out from under the covers.  
  
At the foot of your bed, neatly folded, was a towel.  
  
As you crawled closer to inspect it, you saw that it held a rich purple color. It smelled new and clean – waiting to be permeated by the chlorine. Upon unfolding it, you were dazzled by the dolphins printed on it – they seemed to be swimming out of the towel and into your arms.  
  
You clutched the towel tightly as you fell asleep, the terry cloth scratching your cheek.  
  
During that swim season, the "purple dolphin towel," as you so appropriately called it, became your security blanket.  
  
You took it to every meet.  
  
You didn't win each one, but your father was at all of them.  
  
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Your engagement ring picked up the light pouring in from the window, and one corner glinted the same purple of the prized towel in the back of your mind.  
  
The ring sat on the coffee table before you, and you studied it.  
  
Your most recent attempt at a security blanket.  
  
Your lifestyle does not allow for such pleasures, anymore. The name "security blanket" implies that it is something that can make any aspect of you feel better; a metaphorical blanket that can stretch itself over your entire existence and engulf you within only happiness and comfort.  
  
But you cannot have a blanket that encases everything. Because nothing in your life can overlap.  
  
Danny overlapped.  
  
You thought that perhaps the ring could comfort you, remind you of happier times – when Danny was still alive, when you were excited for the future, when you believed you were helping the right people. When you were naïve.  
  
Sometimes the truth hurts.  
  
The ring brought some comfort, initially. But as time passed, it spited you. It kept you in the past, forbade you to look ahead. Every time you saw it, you thought of how a wedding band would never replace it. And then you thought of why.  
  
The ring was sort of a gilded cage. You were enamored with its beauty and true meaning, but trapped inside of what it had come to represent.  
  
You kept looking at it, quietly resting on the coffee table, its diamond catching the light and shining it back to you in vibrant colors – smiling at you.  
  
As much as you knew it was time to let go, to abandon the security blanket that had failed you…you felt surprisingly vulnerable without it.  
  
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Vulnerable to Noah.  
  
Sitting wrapped in blankets at the safe house, you knew you wanted to kiss him. You just weren't sure why. Your mind and heart fought each other: how much of you really wanted him, and how much of you just wanted to move on.  
  
Under the blankets, your left thumb instinctively moved to touch the ring.  
  
You knew it wouldn't be there.  
  
You stood up. It was inevitable – you would move on. Why not with someone who already knew about you, someone you had already been with? It was easier that way.  
  
You knew you were using Noah. You told him to wait, asked yourself if this was necessary.  
  
The answer was yes. Not necessary to be with him in particular, but nonetheless necessary to move on.  
  
As soon as his lips grazed yours, the guilt burned through you. You hesitated before giving yourself fully, wondering about the consequences of your transgression. And it was a transgression, against Danny – but the only consequences of Noah were the ones you thought of yourself.  
  
You parted your lips.  
  
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After Noah died – after you killed him – you unearthed the ring.  
  
You thought that Noah was safe, an easy pawn in your lovelorn game. A guarantee that moving on would not be as scary as you made it seem.  
  
You should have known.  
  
There are no guarantees; only security blankets. They begin more than thick enough to provide ample comfort, but eventually fade, tear, thin, until there is nothing left but an ultimately worthless, shabby scrap of fabric.  
  
You sighed and slipped the ring back into its familiar nook on your finger.  
  
It hadn't faded yet.  
  
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Shade  
  
AliasAgent2001@yahoo.com 


End file.
